


meet you there

by screamignrodent



Series: teacher!phan au that no one asked for [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, Smut, Teacher!Dan, Teacher!Phil, teacher!au, teacher!phan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamignrodent/pseuds/screamignrodent
Summary: Dan's a new teacher and Phil's become his designated tour guide around the school.





	meet you there

**Author's Note:**

> warning: smut and swearing

 

 “Mr. Lester,” Sarah calls from the end of the hallway, “Philip!”

Phil yanks an earbud out, stopping in his place and whirling around to see Sarah—or Mrs. A, as the student’s call her—holding the wrist of a well-dressed man that Phil had never seen before. “Sarah! What’s up? I was headed back to finish marking the kids’ second essay drafts.”

Sarah holds up the man’s wrist, “This is Dan Howell, he’s going to be teaching music and drama. I was wondering if you could show him around? I know you’re marking but everyone else is either teaching a class or in the staff meeting.”

Phil shrugs, “Sure! Just let me go grab my coffee. Do you mind following me, Dan?”

“Not at all,” Dan says, falling in line alongside Phil. “So, how long have you been teaching?”

Phil has to think for a minute, “For about six years. I’ve been teaching here for four of those,” He sees Dan nod out of the corner of his eye as he opens the door to his homeroom to retrieve his jacket and coffee. “What about you? How long have you been teaching?”

“Um, actually, this will be my first proper teaching experience. I did my student-teaching at Whitman,” he explains, holding the door open for Phil.

“Oh? The secondary school in Manchester?” Phil asks, having a bit of knowledge of it.

“That’d be it! It was pretty fun, most of the students just ignored me.”

Phil shrugs, “They’re teenagers. I’m sure you were the same way, no?”

Dan nods, “’Course I was, but I knew my stuff, I wasn’t an idiot. I was just lazy, ‘s all.”

Phil gestures to a door next to his, “That’s Julia Smiths’ homeroom. She teaches maths to the tenth and eleventh years,” Dan nods, “That’s James Krockers’ room. He teaches all of the kids’ European history. Krissy Ingrid teaches world history for all years.”

“That sounds… stressful,” Dan mutters. “I mean, I teach all grades, but it’s an elective. The kids take my class for extra credit because they want to not because…”

“They have to,” Phil finished. “Yea, there’s a difference in culture between the electives and the mandatory classes, I’ve noticed. I wish I could teach an elective class, but, you know.”

“Yea, you get a degree in one thing and one thing alone,” Dan sighed. “Where did you go to uni?”

“Oh! I, uh, went to Manchester for university. Studied linguistics and cinematography. What about you?”

“I actually went to Manchester, too! I studied law, decided it wasn’t really my thing and then switched majors to music and education,” Dan says excitedly.

“That’s so cool! No one else that teaches here went to Manchester, so we’ll be a bit lonely.”

“Good, my uni years were embarrassing.”

“Aren’t they for everyone?” Phil asks, laughing. He points to another room across the hall. “Jeremy Sherman, he teaches the ninth and some tenth years’ English.”

By the time they’ve finished their tour of the school, Dan’s feet hurt and they both only have three minutes before their planning periods end. They shake hands, exchange their goodbyes, and head to their classes.

 

“When will we get our essays back?” Julia asks. She’s a ninth year, shy and timid usually, but talks quite a lot in Phil’s class. Phil thinks it’s because he doesn’t care much what they write about as long as they write, so a lot of the “quieter” students have become very talkative.

He sighs, leaning over his desk on his elbows, “I _know_ I promised today, but you guys will have to wait a bit longer. I’m almost done, I _promise_ ,” the class groans, but Phil knows they aren’t actually mad at him. He’s usually pretty on top of his marking game, he rarely ever misses a day. If anything, they’re probably grateful that they one more day of sitting around rather than working on their third drafts of their essays.

“So… what do we do today?” David asks. “We can’t really work on our third drafts.”

Phil shrugs, “We could either work on a project for another class, work on our first draft of our scripts, or do another round of feedback.”

There’s a chorus of, “Scripts!” from the students, and Phil gets the strange sense that they want to work on their scripts.

He can see why, obviously.

The class period is spent running through individual students feedback and beginnings of their scripts; each group comes to him with excited eyes and scribbled-notes of how they want their flash-fiction piece to turn into a play. Phil nods along, offering bit and pieces of advice, but never changing the storylines. It’s the students work—not his—he should let them do their job.

He allows them to ramble to him excitedly—they tell him about their main protagonists and antagonists, how they plan their story’s structure, etc. He feels a swelling of pride in his chest; he taught these kids to love their work, their craft, and he taught these kids to be proud of what they put into the world.

 

It’s in the middle of the day, Phil is eating lunch alone in his classroom and finishing marking the student’s third drafts. It’s not something he’s unused to—Sarah’s his only friend at work, and she doesn’t exactly get a work break considering she’s always busy with something.

He hears a knock at the door and yells, “Come in!” before familiar footsteps come closer to him. He doesn’t look up when he hears a chair screech against the tile and see someone sit down.

“What ya grading?” the new teacher—Dan—asks him in a polite yet friendly voice. He tilts the essay to show the title “Second Draft Flash Fiction” on one of his student’s papers. “Oh, flash fiction,” he doesn’t look up but he can hear the scowl in Dan’s voice. “I hated English, and you’re reminding me why.”

Phil laughs, finally tilting his head up to look at Dan’s face; his eyes shining and his smile fond as he studies his coworker.

Phil also studies his coworker.

His very, _very_ , pretty coworker.

Perhaps if they’d gone to university at the same time, Dan would’ve been a one-night stand. That’s under the assumption that Dan likes guys, of course.

“I’d like to believe that I make English fun,” Phil says, his tone playful and upbeat.

“Yeah, and I’d like to imagine my students take music out of enjoyment and _not_ for the easy A.”

“As if you never took a class for an easy A in school,” Phil scoffs.

“I didn’t go to _regular_ class, what makes you think that I signed up for any extras?” Dan laughs.

Phil takes a moment to think over Dan’s words, “Why are you a teacher? I mean, if you hated school so much,” he tries to phrase it as politely as possible, but he’s a bit offended. Kids like Dan—the kids that skipped out of class and smoked pot behind school—always seemed to be the kids that bullied Phil.

“Oh, um, I was bullied a lot,” he says, shyly. “I tended to just leave instead of deal with them.”

That makes the tenseness in Phil’s shoulders melt away. He gives Dan a sad look and hopes that he doesn’t mistake it for pity. “I was bullied, too, but I did the opposite. I used education as a way to escape it. My maths teacher always let me eat lunch with her. I think I became a teacher so that I could help students like she helped me.”

Dan shrugs. “Nope, none of that here,” his tone is resigned and tired, “None of my teachers cared, and no one wanted to help me. I became a teacher so that I would be able to help kids in the way that I wasn’t helped.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Phil asks, and Dan’s face turns pale. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” Dan’s shoulders slouch forwards a bit, but he’s still obviously on edge. He nods, and Phil asks the question before he can lose his confidence, “Why were you bullied?” Dan’s reaction makes Phil backtrack immediately, “I-I know we just met and all, I’m so sorry; I’m just being nosy—”

But Dan answers anyways, “I’m bisexual,” he says, shrugging as if he didn’t just come out. “I told a close friend, and the next thing I knew, the whole town knew. I lived in Wokingham—close to Reading—but my family moved to London after that. It was rough,” he gives Phil a cheeky look as if he hadn’t shared a difficult story to him, “Now, Lester, I’ve spilled my guts now spill your own. Why’d you get bullied?”

“Sort of the same reason,” he says, sadly. “I’m gay, and a lot of the other kids didn’t like that.”

“They never do, do they?” Dan says, but his tone is charged. Phil hates it, he _hates_ that Dan’s tone makes him squirm in his seat and his face flush bright red. “But we’ve survived pretty well, showed those fuckers.”

Phil’s taken aback by his language—most teachers tend to restrict their language at work. It’s a professional and age-related thing. They can’t have the kids overhearing them say those words and God forbid Sarah overhear what they’ll say when they’re in their eighth hour of marking.

“I guess we did,” he says, finally. “I should go back to marking, you can go get lunch, if you’d like?”

“Sure, I’ll bring you some back from the Cafeteria. What do you want? I think it’s salad today,” Dan stands out of his squeaky chair (he really needs new chairs, but he doesn’t have the budget for new classroom materials) and heads out of the room to fetch their lunches.

 

“Dan seems nice,” Phil says to Sarah as he’s leaving, “which room is his, again?”

“Mr. Howell? He’s in Mr. Barren’s old room, four-o-nine, I think,” she responds. Phil catches his last name, realizing that he didn’t actually know Dan’s last name before now.

 _Daniel Howell_. What a pretty name.

He pushes the thought away, sure that he’ll think about it later when he’s alone and thinking about his handsome coworker. “Oh, thanks, Sarah!” he says, giving her a quick hug before climbing into his car and plugging his keys in.

He shouldn’t be allowed to drive—he _really_ shouldn’t. He’s pretty sure his driving instructor was drunk or at least hungover while he was driving, because he ran a red light and the instructor just ignored it completely.

He tries to get rides from the other teachers as often as possible, but it isn’t easy since they all get to school five minutes before class starts and he feels the need to show up at five a.m. Sarah has told him that sleep is more important than early morning grading, but he disagrees with a passion. It feels like he lets his students down every time he misses a marking date.

By the time he’s arrived at his flat, a tiny one-story thing that he rents for way too much money, his eyes are half-closed, and his brain has stopped functioning properly. It’s only seven in the evening but he’s thirty years old and is running on four hours of sleep, so he crawls into bed.

 

 _hey phil it’s dan. i got ur number from sarah i hope it’s not creepy lol_.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes and reads the message again before checking the time stamp. He saves the number as “Dan” before attempting to write out a response to him.

_What the hell were you doing at three a.m.????_

He erases the message.

 _It’s fine_.

Too passive aggressive.

_Lol it’s fine! Why were you up to late (or early? X_X)_

He sends the message, turning his phone off and rolling back over to avoid staring at the sun.

His phone dings, and he ignores it.

But then it dings again.

He groans, rolling over to see the notification.

From: Dan

_couldnt sleep just ignore my unhealthy lifestyle aight m8_

_or don’t idc i probably need someone to yell at me to sleep_

To: Dan

_Do you not sleep?_

From: Dan

_no not really oops_

_i should tho shouldn’t i_

To: Dan

_You really should. Sleep is important_

From: Dan

_so ive been told_

He sets his phone down on his nightstand, standing up and stretching. His clock flashes _9:08_ and he decides that he’s slept long enough to function as a normal adult for the day.

He picks a jumper with foxes on it (“that’s gay culture,” Martyn had said at the shops, and Phil had bought it immediately) and a pair of back skinny jeans. He supposes he could wear pyjamas since he isn’t planning on going anywhere today, but he’s nearly out of coffee and he should probably go out to the shops to get some.

So, jumper and jeans it is.

He brushes his teeth and climbs into the shower, adjusting the chronically-cold water to be a _little_ warmer than usual. He scrubs his body with mint and lavender scented soaps, taking his time and imagining that all the issues from last week are washing down the drain with his shower water.

He climbs out, wrapped in a towel at the waist, and begins getting dressed for the day.

It’s been a particularly nippy Autumn, Phil’s glad that he chose the jumper as he steps outside his apartment. His phone has one new message from Dan that simply reads: _tesco is wild lmaoo_.

Phil snorts a laugh and texts back: _you’re right, but what led to this revelation?_

From: Dan

_there’s a 90 yr old lady carrying a dog in between her boobs and no one has stopped her yet???? He looks like he’s dead inside_

_oh my gOD his tongue is stciking out I love him_

There’s a picture attached, and Phil thinks that the dog _cannot_ be comfortable while stuffed in this woman’s cleavage, but he ignores it. He types: _omfg he’s so cute!!_ And presses ‘save’ on the photo. Sure, the woman’s cleavage takes up most of the photo but it’s a cute dog.

He puts his phone back into his pocket, grabbing his keys and starting the car. He knows it’s probably a bad idea to be buying coffee when he needs to be saving money, but he really needs his caffeine.

 

“Raspberry chocolate coffee?” he hums to himself, putting it under his arm. It’s cheap, and looks very good, so Phil decides to take the risk of the fruity coffee.

“Raspberry coffee?” a voice repeats, and Phil turns around to see Dan. “I told you I was at Tesco and you showed up, are you stalking me, Lester?”

Phil rolls his eyes, “Course I am, you’re just so irresistible.”

It’s so easy to say it, even playfully. Dan is irresistible; his eyes sparkle and his smile makes Phil’s stomach do flips. He’d never admit that to him, of course.

Dan studies Phil for a second, “You want to go back to my place? I have Mario Cart and it’s so boring playing alone.”

“Sure,” Phil finds himself saying, and mentally smacks his brain for not stopping him sooner.

 

Dan does not live in a flat, he lives in a house. Like, a proper house. Which is very odd, because Dan doesn’t strike Phil as the kind of person to take out a mortgage on a house at such a young age. “C’mon, the telly’s in the lounge. Want something to drink? I have Ribena and Coke. I’d offer you alcohol, but teachers shouldn’t really day-drink, should we?”

 The mention of alcohol sounds tempting, and Phil finds himself saying, “Maybe I’ll get you drunk another time.”

“Oh? Planning to get into my pants through whiskey and gin?” Dan taunts, saying his hips a bit playfully. “Lucky for you, I’d go for it without being inebriated.”

Phil’s jaw drops at that, and he feels as if he’ll have to physically pick it up from Dan’s carpet until Dan laughs. “Oh, come on, Lester. Handle a bit of flirting a bit better.”

Dan has a dog, a very excited chocolate lab named Penelope. She jumps on their laps at every chance she gets, and sticks her butt in Phil’s face in order to get him to pay attention to her. Dan doesn’t yell at her or smack her off of the couch, he just sort of laughs and pulls her towards him, saying, “Don’t bother the guest, Nellie, you’ll get hair all over him.”

Dan also finds out that Phil is allergic to dogs (“Only slightly! Phil argues, but Dan shakes his head and relocates Penelope to a kennel in the kitchen and hands him a box of tissues). It’s a fun evening, and before either of them know it, it’s dinner time.

“Here, what do you want? I’ll order food,” Dan reaches for his phone.

“No, it’s okay!”

“Seriously, come on, if you don’t order we’re getting sushi.”

“Sushi is good.”

 

The sushi is very good, Phil wonders how much money Dan spent on the food. He doesn’t ask, because Dan’s made it obvious that he’ll pay for everything on his own. He’s also opened a bottle of red wine and some Ribena with vodka, telling Phil, “Ribena just wants a friend, and vodka is always there for it.”

Phil swallows another sip on the wine; he’s on his third glass, he’s trying to stay a bit sober. He doesn’t want to ruin whatever he has with Dan right now.

But Dan’s drinking spiked Ribena and making a day out of it, mixing and matching until he’s tispy. “I’d hate to get sloshed on bloody Ribena, but I might,” he whispers to Phil playfully. His breath is hot against the shell of Phil’s ear and Phil can imagine Dan’s mouth moving an inch closer and latching onto the skin. He shivers a bit at the thought.

“Are you cold? I could turn the air off, or…”

“Or?”

“Or we could cuddle.”

Phil nearly spit out his drink at that, “You’re properly sloshed, now, aren’t you mate?”

Dan flashes him a shit-eating grin and shrugs. “’M cozy, don’t wanna get up. You should jus’ cuddle me instead.”

Phil obliges, wrapping his arms around Dan and resting his head on his shoulder. His mind is screaming one hundred reasons why he shouldn’t feel up his coworker, but he really can’t help it. Dan leans into the embrace, his lips heavy against Phil’s neck but not moving. He’s just resting his lips there, testing the waters of how far he can go.

Phil knows, and Phil also knows that if Dan starts he won’t have the strength to stop him.

“Dan,” he murmurs. “We need to talk about this.”

But Dan’s begun moving his lips against Phil’s pulse point and he pulls away to blow against the wet skin, “Tomorrow.”

Phil groans as Dan returns to his neck, higher this time, directly under his jaw, “Y-yea, t-tomorrow.”

He runs his fingers through Dan’s curls, feeling his pants begin to grow tighter every time Dan flicks his tongue over Phil’s skin. “Fuck, Dan, your mouth—”

Dan pulls away, latching his lips onto Phil’s and beginning to play with the edge of Phil’s jumper. “Is this ok? Can I take it off?” Dan asks, and Phil gulps against Dan’s kiss, nodding. Dan doesn’t look up, but he gets the message, beginning to slide his hands under Phil’s clothing and work it up his skin. “Want you naked,” he grunts, and Phil goes wild at that statement, ripping his own shirt off before working on Dan’s eagerly. “Want you.”

“You’ve got me,” Phil responds, working on pulling Dan’s pants to his thighs and then down from there. Phil can see the outline of Dan through his pants; he’s not as big as Phil but he’s _thick_ and when Dan catches him staring he laughs and pulls Phil’s trousers down, too.

“Fuck, you’re big,” Dan grunts.

“Will it be an issue—” Phil asks against his lips and Dan laughs.

“God, no. Might have to top, though. Don’t know if you’d fit.”

Phil sighs happily at that, he wants Dan inside of him _immediately._ “You have lube?” Dan nods, pulling Phil up and dragging him up his steps into his room. He shuffles around in his drawer for  bit before he finds what he’s looking for and throws it to Phil.

“Want to suck you,” Dan says, quietly, pulling out something else.

It’s an oral condom, Phil groans.

“You clean?” Dan asks, and Phil nods. “Me too,” he knows he should be responsible and tell Dan to put the condom on him, but he doesn’t. Instead, he groans and pulls himself out of his pants. His cock bobs against his stomach, smearing precum.

Dan gives the head of Phil’s cock kitten licks, warming him up, before placing his mouth halfway down Phil’s cock. He groans, his fingers tangling themselves in Dan’s hair but not pulling or grabbing, just resting at the scalp. Dan pulls off with a _pop_ and looks at Phil through his eyelashes, “Gonna prep you now, okay?”

He takes a gloved finger— _good_ , Phil’s glad he’s prepared—and slips it into the lube. It makes a _squelch_ sound, and Dan fake-gags. Phil laughs at him, pulling Dan by his hips in between his legs. “I’m ready,” Phil groans, and Dan slips the finger inside slowly.

“Tight,” Dan grunts.

“Been a while.”

He stretches the finger, pressing into Phil’s prostate before slipping in another and repeating the action. By the time Dan has three fingers inside, Phil is writhing on the sheets and begging him to just _fuck him already_.

Dan complies, slipping the condom over his dick before moving his hands to slide the lube over it. He takes the glove off and throws it somewhere in his room, making a mental note to pick it up later. He thrusts in slowly, taking his time as to not hurt Phil.

Soon, though, Phil’s grinding back on Dan and he gets the message, speeding up and aiming for Phil’s prostate on each thrust.

His thrusts become sloppy and out of rhythm and Phil knows he wants to finish with Dan, so he grips his own cock and begins jerking in sync with Dan’s thrusts. He cums across their stomachs with no warning, and Dan follows, leaning in to kiss Phil hard against the lips.

He pulls out, ties the condom, and throws it in the general proximity of the bin. He knows it didn’t go in but he can’t be arsed to care. He just slumps over Phil and groans, “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Phil giggles in response, kissing Dan on the cheek.

“Will you sleep here, tonight?” Dan asks shyly, and Phil nods.

“Sure.”


End file.
